


Feathers

by Anonymous



Category: Ring of Honor
Genre: M/M, No Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 16:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15175079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After Dalton loses his ROH heavyweight title, the Boys do their best to comfort him. (spoilers for TV tapings post-Best in the World)





	Feathers

Worry. Fear. Sadness. The Tate brothers are running the gamut in negative emotions right now. Mainly because the chief cause of their happiness is gone. Slipped away from them after losing the ROH title, despite limping, despite back, thigh and hand injuries that would have most men curled up in bed, not fighting, fighting, fighting to last one more minute, one more hour, one more day as champion.  
  
"How could we lose sight of him?" Brent demands, pacing, tugging at his hair. "He... he needs us. And we're not there. We don't even know where he's at." He's breathing harshly, close to a panic attack, and Brandon is now worried for both Dalton and his brother.  
  
"Hey, hey," he says, gripping Brent's elbows and making him look at him. "We'll find him, two. We will. He's savvy, he's smart. He'll keep himself safe until he feels like returning. Ok? Come on, let's sit down. He probably just needs time to digest what's happened."  
  
The highs of Best in the World. The soul numbing lows of watching the title slip from their grasps, land in Jay Lethal's eager palms. Brent buries his face in his hands and sniffs hard. "I just want to hold him," he admits quietly.  
  
Brandon strokes his brother's neck. "You will. We both will. We'll take good care of him as soon as that's what he wants. Alright?" Brent struggles to nod, and the brothers sit there for the longest time, trying not to watch the clock. Their phones light up as one and they almost crash into each other diving for them. It's a tweet alert from Dalton, not as verbose as usual... talking about how different things are. But that he's beaten, not finished.  
  
They stare at each other, tears beading in their eyes, and both stand as one. Neither are a hundred percent certain where he'll be, but they know him. Any kind of communication from him, especially on a place that he knows they'll see, means he's ready to come back to them, so they venture out into the hallway of the hotel, looking left, to right, before Brent catches sight of something down the hall. He clasps Brandon's shoulder before sprinting towards the shape, dropping to his knees before Dalton, slumped between their door and the next. "Dalton," he whispers, cupping his jaw, brushing his fingers through his hair. "Oh, baby," he breathes out, when broken, sad eyes lock with his.  
  
"I was trying," he says, voice weak and a bit highpitched. "I was trying to get back to the room, but my back spasmed and I... slid down here, I think. But I still had my phone, so I sent a tweet... and there my pretty Boys are." He smiles a little, reaching out for them, and both Boys grip his hands, kissing his palms, his knuckles, tracing his wrists with their fingers. "I'm sorry I failed you again. I always... I always fail you. The six man tag belts, and now... this..." His eyes slip closed as he hits his head back against the wall.  
  
"No! Never! You have never failed us," Brent tells him, tears dripping down his face as he cradles Dalton's head in his hands, smoothing his fingers over the dips of his skull down into his neck. Brandon moves next to him and Brent catches on, the two of them working to get Dalton on his feet, lead him slowly, carefully to their hotel room. They're gentle, so careful, as they ease him onto the bed, settling down on either side of him. His breathing is rough, his body is one long line of tension, and they exchange glances, desperate for a way to fix this. To help him find some comfort, maybe even get some sleep.  
  
Then Brandon gets up and marches determinedly over to where they'd thrown their gear after returning to the hotel alone and afraid. He's tearing into the peacock feather fans that they use to keep Dalton cool and comfortable during his entrances and especially during his matches, tearing a couple of the delicate shafts off. As Brent walks up to him, trying to block this from Dalton's view, aghast, Brandon looks at him with grim certainty. "We can replace the fans," he tells him in a strained hiss. "We can't replace Dalton. Follow my lead." He pushes a couple of the loose feathers into Brent's hands before returning to the bed.  
  
Dalton's eyes flutter as Brandon slowly eases his jacket off, the shirt underneath carefully pulled over his head. Shoes, socks, jeans, boxers, all go until Dalton is naked and trembling a little before them. Brent licks his lips at the familiar, beautiful sight, and then scrambles to match his brother as he strips as well, the two of them settling on either side of Dalton and letting him feel their bare skin bracketing his, the intimate warmth easing a little of their anxiety and pain as well. "We love you, Dalton," Brandon tells him softly. "You've never failed us, and you never could. You've made us better Boys than we could've ever hoped to be. So many people know us that probably never would've have without you. You've given us an identity, success... hope, after years of struggling in this business." He grips Dalton's jaw and draws him closer, kissing him long, soft, his tongue teasing against Dalton's lips before he moans out softly, allowing the Boy to flick in briefly, tasting him, before retreating, just to repeat the motion as Dalton pants beneath him, always loving how Brandon can relay how he's feeling with a few lingering kisses.  
  
But Brent has his own strengths of course, and Dalton hisses into Brandon as a second source of familiar, warm slick pressure eases down his chest, along his abs. Fingers tease along his hips, down his thighs, and Dalton tries not to feel too ashamed that he's not even close to getting hard yet-- when his Boys are close to him like this, it's usually instantaneous but he's hurting and he's been put through the emotional ringer, and he just... he can't... Tears fill his eyes and he sobs suddenly, breaking the kiss with Brandon, who quickly moves up and stares deep into his eyes, all attempt at foreplay forgotten. "Dalton," he says, as Brent, also sensing his agony, moves up to join them, stroking Dalton's hair, kissing the tears off of his cheeks. "Listen to me. Championships are nice. Prestige, money, fame, it's all great. But they're not loyalty. They're not affection. They're not a guy who's professed to not being much of a hugger still coming to us and hugging us when we're hurting or scared because he knows we need it. We love you, not your belts, or your money, or anything else."  
  
Brent nuzzles into him, pressing open mouth kisses to his jaw. "When you hurt, we hurt," he whispers. "We love you, Dalton. Forever and ever." He stares down at him, hope and sorrow warring in his gaze. "Please let us try to make you feel better. Please..."  
  
Dalton nods weakly and lays there, staring up at the ceiling, as the Boys whisper and shift near his hips. He hisses out a breath when something light brushes over his pelvis, his eyes shooting open as a similar sensation tingles up his thigh, towards his soft, reactionless flesh, and he whines out a moan when he realizes, the peacock feathers bright and cheerful against his pale skin. "Boys," he moans softly, feeling the delicate slide of the feathers over his sensitive skin, making him twitch.  
  
Brent maintains the subtly arousing motion with the feathers when Brandon moves back up, straddling him and cupping his face, searching his eyes. "You believe us, right?" he asks quietly, slowly rolling his hips and leaving Dalton gasping at the slick feel of him gliding over his abs.  
  
"You're-- you're hard," he groans out. "So hard..."  
  
"This is what you do to me, Dalton," Brandon tells him, gently gripping Dalton's hand and easing it down between them, letting him touch the throbbing flesh, how wet he already is, how eager. Rolls his hips again, more precome clinging to Dalton's abs. He leans closer and kisses Dalton before finding his ear. "If you think this is something, you should see Brent right now."  
  
Brent, sweet, patient Boy that he is, always more reactive, always so eager to please, always the first to orgasm to Dalton's delight. Dalton shivers at the thought, peering down at what he can see of Brent-- and then Brandon moves and Dalton whimpers when he sees him, kneeling between Dalton's legs, biting his lips as he strokes Dalton with the feathers, clearly holding in sharp moans as his body twitches and spasms with his own hunger for release. "Tra-- trade places, Boys," he says, some authority returning to his voice as both of their faces light up and Brandon takes over with the feathers while Brent awkwardly crawls up Dalton's body and hisses as he settles against Dalton's stomach, so sensitive, so close that even that little bit of pressure almost sends him over right then, right there.  
  
"I--" Brent tries to say, but Dalton hums. Grips his hips and glides him forward, nosing into Brent's erection. "Oh my God," the Boy moans, his hips rocking forward and brushing more precome over Dalton's lips in an uneven line. He fights not to cry as Dalton kisses up and down his throbbing flesh, watching his face as he grows even harder against Dalton's jaw. Brent throws his head back, mouth parted in a silent, body-rocking moan, when Dalton moves him again, tugging him into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the nonstop wave of precome, giving away just how close Brent really is. Dalton starts to hum, the vibrations rolling all the way down Brent's thighs, and he cries out Dalton's name as he orgasms so hard that neither of them think it'll ever end, Dalton taking care to swallow it down and then lick him clean afterwards.  
  
Between Brandon and Dalton, they get him moved back down to rest by Dalton's hip, and Brandon smirks as he reclaims his place. "So," he says quietly, staring into Dalton's face. "You seem to be feeling better."  
  
"Maybe," Dalton hedges, his hands sneaking up Brandon's thighs, watching as his eyes flutter. "About halfway there, I think."  
  
"What do you need from me to make it complete?" Brandon wonders, biting down a gasp as Dalton brushes a knuckle over the tip of his erection, Brandon's jaw tensing as he jerks up, making Dalton chuckle fondly. Brent prefers blow jobs, handjobs, maybe the slow, soft glide of Dalton's lube-slicked fingers exploring inside of him sometimes if he's feeling adventurous, whatever pampering Dalton is up for that particular day. Brandon, however, will take whatever he can get-- preferably all inside of him at once. And Dalton knows it. Unfortunately, his body still isn't fully cooperating and he looks frustrated, sad, as Brandon slips his fingers between his legs, brushes against his skin, cups him in his hands. "You're ok," he says, smiling faintly. "Trust me?"  
  
"Always," Dalton exhales. "But, Brandon--" Brandon lightly shushes him. Digs around for the lube and, upon finding it tangled up in the sheets, pours a liberal amount over Dalton's fingers, over his own. "Wha--" Then Dalton quiets as Brandon guides Dalton's hand back, rubs his wet digits along the slick, prepped area, ensuring it's good and wet, before sinking one of his fingers inside of himself, lets his muscles shift and adjust to the feeling. Not needing a lot of time, he then slips once of his own inside and stretches, the lube coating every inch of him inside and out as he eases in further, his jaw going slack as their fingers find every sensitive nerve ending along the way, sending fiery arousal coursing through his veins. He whimpers and pulls his fingers out, Dalton quickly following. "Alright?" Dalton asks, face flushed and eyes wide as Brandon slowly regains control of his breathing.  
  
"Halfway," he cracks and Dalton barks out a startled laugh, quickly falling quiet once more as Brandon moves to hover over him, cupping his twitching penis in his hands.  
  
"Brandon," he groans out, watching closely as Brandon sinks down onto him, holding him carefully as he takes him in. It's different, difficult to accomplish with his body already so taxed, and absolutely no response from his could-be erection, but Brandon is calm, patient. Works him in and sighs hard once they're hip to hip, eyes closed as he slowly rocks back and forth. Dalton has never experienced this level of intimacy before. He can feel every inch of Brandon pressing against his malleable flesh, the desperate need to move not there as they slowly glide together, eyes locked on each other's faces. "How did you know?" he forces out, gritting his teeth against the slow building orgasm that's making his toes curl as he fights just to keep his eyes open against the overwhelming beauty of it all, marveling at his body's response despite the lack of an actual erection. He wants it to last, he wants to remember the slow ease of Brandon's warmth embracing him, faults and all. See how his face contorts when he climaxes, the beautiful moans and whimpers he'll no doubt exhale out before collapsing against Dalton and kissing his chest until he feels like moving again.  
  
Brandon grins, then moans as he takes Dalton in further, feeling so full and adored that it's all he can do to not fall apart right then. "Just a feeling," he struggles to say, biting down more moans. "Oh God, Dalton, you feel so good inside of me like this, shit, I never want it to end." He rolls his hips slowly, laughing weakly as Dalton meets his movements. "I know things are rough," he continues, sprawling his hands out over Dalton's chest and shifting his position, feeling the slow creeping pressure deep in his core as his orgasm taunts him just out of reach. "You're hurt physically and emotionally, and there's a lot of strange things going on right now. But Brent and I love you and we'll always be here for you, whatever you need, whenever you need it, however you need it." As if to prove his point, he eases up a few inches, crying out as this time when he sinks back down, the lube and precome mix together, ease the rest of the way to Brandon's prostate, his vision whiting out as he orgasms so hard that the pressure of his muscles clenching, the sound of his moaning out Dalton's name, sends Dalton over as well, Brandon slowly slumping down onto Dalton's chest as he tries to regroup.  
  
Brent stirs and crawls up to join them, Dalton shifting just enough to wrap his arm around him as well, kissing the side of his head. "My Boys," he says sleepily, finally feeling relaxed enough to possibly catch a few hours before facing the bleak reality of life without his title, trying to piece his career back together and figuring out where he goes from here, injuries and all.  
  
"Always," Brandon murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.  
  
"And forever," Brent agrees, pressing closer to Dalton and kissing his jaw before sleep claims him as well.


End file.
